Dark, Stark
by ivybluesummers
Summary: A certain creature's angst at the bathe, and an Oni's contemplation over a certain willow.
1. Dark and Stark

Standard disclaimers apply. A one-shot inspired by Jamie O'Neill's "At Swim, Two Boys". Blink and you'll miss.

* * *

_Condemnation. In the lives of the many, people often find themselves on the brink of losing their existence when condemnation prompts the cores of one's inner universe. Such as these may find you looking for something, perhaps anything to cling on to when the world feels like condemnation is a slang word one can hear everyday, every minute. Comrades... the love of and to your comrade... it's an antithesis to see for sure..._

**Dark, Stark**

Dandelion breeze through the stark windows of the lavender-haired creature it swept, the confines of the lithe body it had penetrated in the silks that covered it. Somehow, the wind felt cold, not from the touch of absolutely zero temperature but from the coldness of being alone, alone in the forest that seemed very eclectic and far eyed wide. Tears rolled down yet again from the creature's cheeks, and the memory shot back at his mind's eye. The bleak look. The very bleak look.

Now that was weird. The creature cried. Implying it had eyes. And it can feel. Hands crept on its garments. Now why would a creature wear silk?

Holding back, Nuriko decided on his resolve and dipped his feet on the pond beside him, beside a very ancient tree where leaves fall, the seemingly ripple it made on the pond. Nuriko wished he was the ripple itself, waving at the distance and disappearing in a skip of the heartbeat, disappearing as if it never existed at all. The ends of his garments wetted as he dipped himself fully onto the pond, smelling of dandelion, again, and it made him quite cold at the touch of the water. Cold. Though in the tusks that bore in the afternoon glow of the sunbeams, it still felt cold. No dews whatsoever. It felt really cold. He _wanted_ to feel cold.

Underwater, Nuriko tried to widen his eyes but found it too difficult to do so, his nose somewhat feeling a little ached, the point where it wants to bleed, but contradictorily Nuriko didn't mind at all. The velvety coverings he had were all but velvety now. In the stillness of his heart, he heard voices calling him out, almost like a tune in his ears that seemed to impair his hearing. The undulating of the waters under soon seeped into his body. One touch; at the bathe, his angst.

Nuriko opened his eyes and realized the desire of his body to slouch itself on the pond. More than this daydreaming he found himself sobbing his heart out, again, alone. In the depths of the amplified territory of the creatures he finally accepted he was one of them, those creatures that bequeath nothing but bestial adherence to its nature, adapting as if they were none of Suzaku's creation. Oh the last of all resorts, Suzaku in its red glimmering glory, what am I to do!

Nuriko tore another shred of his silk, exposing his collarbone, and wept from the memory that sprang back onto him. One and a half month. And counting. One and a half month now since their priestess was gone, and it made Nuriko in his might the worst possible looking human. Human, eh? What kind of impact it had on Nuriko's head. Human. Was he less of a human at all? He didn't understand.

He didn't understand. Not from Miaka's departing from the fairy tale-like world, as what the coffee-haired lass commented. Still, it was the same question that niggled his brain, almost like haunting mantras in the everyday nightly pavements, swishing, almost on the brink of danger if you try to listen. The same question that haunted him for almost two months. The same question that desperately solicited answers. One and a half month. He didn't understand.

Almost on the verge of being half-naked, which was an exceedingly dreadful thing to be, Nuriko tore instead one of the tailings of his silk garments. That bleak look on the emperor's face when the word of truth escaped from the demon's mouth disguised as their priestess. It seemed to Nuriko that it was all but not bleakness, but it shot to him fully that the bleakness was more than to its potentiality, and realization. Bitterness if he might add. Antagonistic pity. Disgust in its uttermost spoken words, the silence it brought on the bleakness it contained. Maybe he understood it all from the very dawn. It wasn't that his mind was closed on that kind of realization. He didn't want to open it.

Slowly, faintly, Nuriko looked up at the sky. Everyday saccharine that tasted like bitter coffee, the sun is in its afterglow of daylight. Horizons call themselves upon, the sight such a relief to him, bringing on the heartbreak and all. Yes, whatever. Glancing on the sides, he then prepared to leave.

Wait.

"Ta... Tama-home?"

A cloak was now pressed against him, the warmth seeping in his clothes. But it still felt cold, he wondered. Nuriko's face tilted to take a glimpse on one of Suzaku's pride. It didn't give him any better. "Is it you, Tamahome?"

No response.

Nuriko's eyes focused on the pond. Another leaf fell and made a small ripple, but the ripple itself bounced on random directions, disappearing faintly as it made marks with the other ripple on the pond. Leaf and stone; what a combination.

The man sat beside him. A pair of coolly resembled eyes stared at Nuriko. Why, it had no color, Nuriko thought. "You... look at you." the man said.

Nuriko was silent.

"I knew I'd find you here. I asked the aides where you went but they didn't know."

"You know where you'd find me. Saw me thrice."

Tamahome scratched his head, surprised at how the lavender-haired creature can sense people without even looking. "Sorry..."

Nuriko felt the warmth of the cloak. Finally. "You don't have to be sorry at all," he whispered, but a smile appeared on the emotionally torn body of his.

"Why wouldn't I be? You've lost everything. You've lost-"

"Tamahome, I think it's not a good idea to remind me that."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

The two looked at the pond, the skies reflecting. Dark. Stark.

"You miss her, Miaka, yes?" Nuriko said, not asked, and he regretted the moment his mouth started to open. What question, eh? The emperor in his utmost look of nothingness reflecting onto him, again. He tried to shrug it off with his head, Tamahome looking at him quizzically.

"I'm sorry."

Stillness. The forest seemed dark now, but the moonbeams have started swooshing down its pale luminous glory, the scent now smelling of night jasmine, of humus and leaves all together. Nature, Nuriko thought, and the smell were made pungent on his nose.

"What night, ne?" Nuriko tried to smile, wishing for the silence to break.

Tamahome. What look on his eyes Nuriko cannot decipher?

"Miaka's gone and went to her own world. It's painful to know that those who hold special places in your soul can almost disguise themselves as permanent. But I've got to live with it now, somehow."

"You're tough enough to handle that, Tamahome-chan."

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't know."

Another skips of the hearts.

"It's night already. I never thought we stayed that long." Nuriko winced. "Oh, you must be getting cold! Here now, the cloak is too big for me anyway."

"No, I don't mind at all..."

"Don't be silly. You're... Oh!" he saw Tamahome's body shudder, and a pang of guilt shot Nuriko. "You're cold! Here now..."

Tamahome hesitated for a bit. With a look on Nuriko's concerned face, he sat much nearer to the lavender-haired creature. "Thanks..."

"No, I should be the one who's thanking. You needn't have to be here, but you were. Thank you."

The two Suzaku shichiseishi were millimeters with each other now, heat drawing from each other as if heat itself was energy from the cocoons of Suzaku's force. The cloak swathed their bodies, the tips of the thick cloth unwaveringly swaying at the cold rushes of gusts. Dark, stark. Flourishing scents of the dark night, swarming all together. Nuriko can't smell the night jasmine anymore. What was it that jazzes his body awake?

"The moon... Nuriko, your garments are all and torn."

"That's what you get from thinking too much."

Tamahome sighed in amusement. "The moon. It's crescent. Full crescent."

"Such a sight."

Another silence.

"Nuriko," Tamahome finally broke. "I... I won't mean to annoy you, really. It's none of my business to understand the things and... between everything else."

"Even the emperor," he continued.

Nuriko blinked.

"...but it's not your fault to be this way. It's no one's fault. I don't understand why Hotohori couldn't understand himself what nature molded for the world to see and behold. He's supposed to be scholarly."

This made Nuriko once more remind himself of that memory. Respect, Nuriko.

"No one understands. I'm sure you only do. Damn, I'm just too hard at words..."

"You need not to say it, Tamahome-chan."

"No... it's just that it pains me to see such a wonderful creature begging himself be thrown the mockeries of the world."

Wonderful creature? Was Nuriko a wonderful creature to him?

"I doubt they don't have any idea of that. But I do. I do, really."

Warmth.

Tamahome continued, "Don't be so hard on yourself. You've been like this for like two months. It's bothering me, yes,"

Nuriko chuckled. "Look who's talking." Then another pang of guilt shot right through his body. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, feeling almost stupid at the annunciations of words.

"What night, eh?"

"Tamahome..."

The silence overwhelmed them again. Crestfallen stars it seemed for the both of them, the skies now dancing almost halfheartedly cold, as if the hues of the moon itself were touching them. Crescent moon in its serene wonder, white moonbeams over the sides of the trees, some on the leaves... they're all completely reflected on the pond. Embellished by countless stars the pond spoke of solitude yet company. Loneliness but companionship, almost not friendship at all, but love in its meaning between comrades. Comrades, yes, Nuriko thought. Was Tamahome thinking the same way?

"It's hard. Miaka gone, that is. I can't picture myself in this circumstance. No... We. Miaka is gone and Kotou is left undone. But I'm sure it'll all come around."

"I hope so."

"Not hope, Nuriko... certainty."

"Certainly then."

Tamahome looked at the lavender-haired with a plaster of smile on his face. He then looked again in the dark pond, glimmering, touching the confines of earth as nature barge down on nature itself. Pale as it is, quickening pulse as it is as an arm rested on Nuriko's waist. Seemingly like a signal, Nuriko rested his head on the taller boy's shoulder. There at the dark lush they slackened, enjoying the silence and the closeness, the understanding that once in a lifetime feelings like these do exist, even if creature themselves cloak in its utter disguise. Dark, stark. Company and closeness, inching themselves closer... nearer... Nuriko is sure now of that smell. Musk, unreserved masculinity in Tamahome's body. The bleakness of the emperor's eyes was nothing now but remnants diminishing by the second. Now that's a distraction he can live with.

"Ne, Tamahome..." Nuriko whispered, eyes closed, feeling the arm on his waist tightening but gently. He snuggled his head closer at the taller boy's shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"What night, eh?"


	2. Last Violet Discourse

Some references to Evangelion, Silent Hill, Cowboy Bebop and Tori Amos.

* * *

_On the moment of death, of birth and transcendence, nothing can so pierce the soul with the uttermost sigh of the body. And life is a dance; in the end, it's all about fitting the deathful tune in it._

**The Last Violet Discourse**

Such melancholic consciousness kept reverberating on his mind like lingering wisdom on the precept of death, and in his solitude and lost hope he keeps reminding himself, dying is not breathing the last breath but just finding out if you are really alive.

With foliage beside the snowy plains somewhere outside Konan, dandelion breeze reminded him of the lavender-haired creature, the way nature molded beauty into something other than beauty and nature itself so as to contain it within those willow eyes, full of dreams to fulfill and reveries to realize; standing still, Tamahome's eyes looked bleak at his sight, snow breezing and white flakes of coldness percolating not on his skin but on the sentiments within him. Somehow, at the back of his mind, the wind manifested warmth, but he was fully aware that it was the memories that kept him inviting all along, some distant echo of affinity that kept telling him that death transcends death itself, and no matter where entities go it'd boil down on the memory that kept it binding... stitching...

It has been months since Nuriko left Konan to meet Suzaku in the heavens, but it all seemed yesterday in Tamahome's desolation.

"You're so distant, Nuriko, but you're too human," he whispered, holding back the tears that have been looming to flow. He alternatively sat beside Nuriko's grave, not daring to take his sight off of the snowy sanctuary. In Tamahome's solitude he kept on remembering why he was there sitting in the wintry plains; why it was sad to acknowledge death.

He could still remember the foliage escapades, with seemingly dark and stark ambiance, but it was company and closeness, embellished on the countless stars – it was almost not friendship at all, but a love in its meaning between comrades. More than its mystery, coming before heaven, words go freely as each step towards the suicide of awkwardness. Oh yes, he remembers. "Tama-chan, in mysteries of oddity, reason barters nothing but the fulfillment of our melancholy; that's why I recognize the emperor's contempt on my oddity. It just... unfolds like old stories, ne?"

As much as Tamahome wants to despise the idiotic veneration of the lavender-haired towards the selective attitude of the emperor, he is now aware why. Masquerade is a lovely revelry, and in all of these things they reside across the universe; and reverence is not selective in any way as it delves identity, and not bigoted acumen.

"It doesn't matter now, Nuriko, it's all the same now," he whispered as the skies shrouded in dark hues, warning the lad of the ominous and fierce rain, or snow perhaps. He didn't bother to stand nevertheless, and continued to stare at the pallid asylum of Nuriko as if he was staring at Suzaku's heaven itself.

Nuriko was sunshine on the leash yet darkness on the rise.

It distresses Tamahome in ways unimaginable, yet it sparks gratification on his looked-in perspective, the way Nuriko would always tell him adrift and lingering prospects to send them beyond sadness and everything else. It was hard to deal with Miaka's childishness but Tamahome managed, and their relationship is stronger than before; it was Nuriko who taught him that prospect, whose optimism towards life and the acceptance of death made Tamahome consider the lavender-haired in the highest regard.

"_No... it's just that it pains me to see such a wonderful creature begging himself be thrown the mockeries of the world." _Nuriko was a beautiful creature to him and yet he wasn't able to tell him, the way his femininity stands strong in all musk in the world.

"We, what have we got?" Tamahome whispered and asked at the same time. Positively, yet positively... he remembers it quite fully.

_T'was the night in dark spaces and stark time. Tamahome was beside Nuriko as Miaka snore while sleeping. Night consumes moonbeams and it was just like the same instance they were in Konan long before the coffee-haired lass came back. "Look at me, Tamahome,"_

_Tamahome cringed. "I cut my hair because I know I've been double-dealing with reality,"_

"_I don't know what you mean,"_

"_I still don't know whether I love Hotohori or Miaka,"_

"_And I cut my hair because I thought I could only see patches of reality. My long hair reminds me of my oddity and familiarity at the same time, and maybe, just maybe, when I don't see my long hair I might shape another of me other than sadness,"_

"_Nuriko, I..."_

"_Take this. Souvenir."_

"_Are you kidding me!"_

_Both chuckled._

"_You're not perfect, Nuriko, but you have a lot to be worthwhile."_

"_Worthwhile, huh..."_

"_When beauty no longer stands the tests of time it becomes ugly,"_

"_So you say,"_

"_But you are,"_

"_When I won't come back after tomorrow, would you rescue me, Tama-chan?"_

"_Don't say silly things,"_

"_In this world there is nothing to believe in, Tamahome..."_

Drops of water seemed oceans to Tamahome as it jab his back, his tresses wet but his sight still pasted on Nuriko's crypt. Rain started pouring some minutes ago but he stayed where he sat, snow barely melting against water, his muscles clenching at the taste of salty rain, or at least that's what he says to himself; not crying but tasting saline, knowing it's all too clear to see.

Miaka came out running towards Tamahome with a big umbrella of some sort, eyes full of concern with tears swelling at the corner of her eyes; she feels the same way Tamahome does, but it should not be an impediment to their goal. Nuriko's death wouldn't serve meaningful then.

As tears came into a halt Tamahome focused on Miaka's call and stood up from the slippery snow. The rain had stopped, too, and looking up, white clouds started to form as sunbeams peek nearby, glistening certain hues of red, yellow and blue. Tamahome closed his eyes as the sunlight soared on his body with Miaka's voice growing louder on his ears, remembering Nuriko and his sacrifice, his beauty and his depth he could only reminisce. Setting adrift the memory, he knows the lavender-haired's death is not breathing the last breath, but transcending life... and the refrain of the soul.

With a last glimpse on the sky, he wiped his eyes and walked towards Miaka.

"These tears are oceans Nuriko... I'll... I'll sail you home..."


End file.
